


for you i'm waiting, anticipating

by ericdire (aarobron)



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:14:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23493025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aarobron/pseuds/ericdire
Summary: “I thought you were going to shave,” Jordan murmurs, running the pad of his index finger along the hollow of Virgil’s cheek. The coarse hairs make his skin tingle but Virgil catches his wrist, turns his head so he can press a kiss to his finger. “I told you to shave.”
Relationships: Virgil van Dijk/Jordan Henderson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 37





	for you i'm waiting, anticipating

**Author's Note:**

> virgil has scruff and he looks wonderful, so i wrote this. it probably doesn't make much sense bc i have a terrible cold but i had to get this out anyway, so enjoy.
> 
> for anyone who hasn't seen the beard, [here's a gifset](https://jordanshenderson.tumblr.com/post/614554580446003200).
> 
> happy reading and stay safe! feedback always appreciated, thank you xxx

“I thought you were going to shave,” Jordan murmurs, running the pad of his index finger along the hollow of Virgil’s cheek. The coarse hairs make his skin tingle but Virgil catches his wrist, turns his head so he can press a kiss to his finger. “I told you to shave.”

“I read between the lines,” Virgil says dismissively. He grins against Jordan’s finger and then opens his mouth, lets his teeth graze against it gently. It makes Jordan shiver, travelling down his spine like a ripple, and he watches the inky darkness of Virgil’s pupils expand. “I know that you didn’t want me to. You can complain about it all you want, but I know you like it.” 

“I do not,” Jordan says. He’s pouting but he still lets Virgil drag his hand up until his beard is grazing the thin skin on the inside of his wrist, and he sighs at the sensation. “It _hurts_ , and the lads all noticed when I had a rash on my neck last week!” 

“Ox tells you you’ve got something on your face at least three times a week,” Virgil murmurs, rolling his eyes like Jordan is being dramatic. He mouths at the spot where his beard has just dragged against, over the red patch of skin. His tongue flickers over the pulse point there and Jordan just about manages to hold back a moan. “It doesn’t mean you do.” 

“Yes, but this time I did,” Jordan huffs. He tries to snatch his arm back but Virgil just tightens his grip, pushing him back against the mattress and hovering over him. He’s still grinning, devilish but so fucking delightful, and he shoves a leg snugly between Jordan’s. “It was _embarrassing_.” 

“Poor little baby,” Virgil says mockingly, pinning Jordan’s wrists above his head. He leans down and kisses Jordan though, long and slow and deep enough that it makes Jordan’s toes curl against the sheets. “I know how to make it better.” 

“Do you now?” Jordan asks, but it’s distant, distracted. He keens towards Virgil when his mouth travels down towards his jaw, teeth nipping harshly along the sharp line of it, and Virgil pulls him impossibly closer.

“You know I do,” Virgil says. His voice is low and husky, the very definition of desire. He runs his tongue over the dark marks he left on Jordan’s skin, soothing them until they stop aching, and grinds his hips down slowly. “Turn over, Jordan.”

He sits back on his heels and watches as Jordan does what he’s told, because there’s no way that he could ever turn that man down. He settles on his front, head turned to the side so he can still watch Virgil out of the corner of his eye, and feels his entire body relax when Virgil drapes himself over his back. 

“That’s better,” Virgil murmurs, kissing the soft skin at the bottom of his neck gently. The hot heaviness of his dick is stark against Jordan’s skin even through the layers of their boxers and he tries to stifle back a needy sob – but fails. It comes out as broken and slightly raw, and Virgil’s hand traces the length of his side carefully.

“Do you still want me to shave?” Virgil whispers. He’s so quiet but his voice is loud in the silence of the room, cutting through the harsh sounds of their breathing. He drags his chin against the smoothness of Jordan’s shoulder blades, and the burning makes everything feel so much more intense.

“Yes,” Jordan mutters, but it’s staccato and a struggle to get the word out. He doesn’t mean it, of course. How could he when it’s making him feel like this? 

Still, Virgil presses his grin into the skin that he’s just marked and his fingers catch in the waistband of Jordan’s boxers, slowly pulling them down until they’re riding low on the curve of his arse. “I guess I’ll just have to try harder then,” he says, index finger following the line in the centre of Jordan’s back down into the crease of his arse. 

The pad of his finger presses hard against his hole and Jordan tries not to push back against it, because he doesn’t want to give away too much too soon. Instead, he curls his fingers tight into the pillow beneath him – Virgil’s pillow, because he knows the misshapen lump of it will piss him off later – and breathes out slowly.

“Going to make me work for it, are you?” Virgil hums, smoothing his hand back over Jordan's arse. He lifts his body slightly so he can kiss Jordan, faces pressed close together and one big hand around the back of his head. The angle is slightly awkward and Jordan’s pretty sure the pillow must be suffocating Virgil a little bit, but he doesn’t complain. It’s still perfect. “I can deal with that.” 

Jordan just grunts, not a confirmation and not a denial. He’s not going to give Virgil what he wants this soon, because where’s the fun in that? The best thing about their relationship is the push and pull, and Jordan relishes in it. 

“Tell me if it gets too much,” Virgil instructs, voice and hands going incredibly soft for a second, but then he’s back to how he was. His fingers tighten around Jordan’s waist and he kisses down the line of his spine slowly, tongue mapping out a wet path as he carefully pulls Jordan’s boxers down to his thighs. 

The material is tight, digging into the hard muscle there and causing a burning friction against his skin when he moves, but it feels good. He finally lets himself push back against Virgil’s mouth and the younger man just laughs, quiet and wicked, still pressed against Jordan’s skin. 

“So impatient,” he murmurs, tongue laving in the dips on each side of Jordan’s back. The skin is more sensitive there and Virgil knows it, biting down, sinking his teeth in painfully, but it’s less pain and more pleasure when Jordan cries out. His hips jerk back of their own accord, and Virgil catches them with his hands to stop them from moving again. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll give you what you want.” 

“I don’t _want_ anything from you,” Jordan snaps, but it’s weak and completely untrue. Virgil grins wickedly and kisses the very base of his spine gently, nose brushing through the soft hairs there.

“You need it, then,” he counters quietly, but his voice isn’t accusatory in the slightest. Jordan huffs because he knows he’s dropped himself in it, but he can’t turn it down. It’s not a lie, so. It’d be cruel to attempt to pretend he doesn’t need it, because he’s desperate for whatever Virgil wants to give him. “It’s okay to want it. It’s okay to need it.” 

Jordan doesn’t dignify that with a response.

Virgil’s palms smooth over the curves of his arse and then his fingers close around his hips, dragging them up until he’s bent at the waist and his weight is resting on his hands. He seems even more appreciative of Jordan like this and his thumbs slip into the crease of his arse, pulling his cheeks apart slightly as he sits back on his heels.

“Look at you,” Virgil says, and the awe is evident in his voice. Jordan wishes he could see the look on his face. “You’re so good for me, sitting there so exposed and not caring. You’re perfect.”

“Fuck off,” Jordan mutters, pressing his face into his forearm. His cheeks have flushed bright red, hot with shame, and it travels down his neck and over his collarbones. Virgil must notice, but he doesn’t say anything about it. “I’m not a piece of meat, you know.” 

“I know,” Virgil says carefully, pressing a kiss to the cheek of Jordan’s arse. He bites gently and Jordan doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know whether to shudder away or push into it. Instead, he lets out a short whimper, and listens to Virgil soothe him quietly. “You’re much more than that, and I love you. But I can still appreciate how gorgeous you are when you’re desperate for my cock.”

“I’m not _desperate_ ,” Jordan spits, but then Virgil licks a thick stripe down the crease of his arse and he pushes back into the sensation needily. The younger man laughs lowly, sits back on his heels again but doesn’t release his grip. The tips of his fingers are biting into the muscle painfully. 

“Aren’t you?” Virgil asks, voice slightly mocking. Jordan knows even without looking that he’s got an eyebrow raised but before he can say anything, Virgil is leaning back in, pressing a wet, messy kiss against Jordan’s hole. It’s so much, but still not even close to what he wants. “I’ll bear that in mind, then.” 

And then he’s leaning back in, tongue stiffening up and pushing into Jordan’s hole. It feels weird but also so good, and Jordan will never, ever get used to the sensation. Before Virgil (even though he can barely remember a time before this, and he doesn’t want to), he didn’t particularly like it. But Virgil is Virgil and he knows how to press all of Jordan’s buttons, and he somehow knows exactly what he wants – even if Jordan himself doesn’t know. 

So maybe he is desperate.

“Are you okay?” Virgil asks gently, harsh bristles of his beard scratching along the sensitive skin of the innermost part of Jordan’s cheek. It makes him gasp, makes him flinch away, but Virgil’s grip on his hips is so tight that he’s going to be wearing the bruises proudly for weeks, so he can’t move anywhere. Instead, he nods, because he’s more than okay. He’s never felt more at peace with himself. “Do you want to know what I’m going to do to you?”

Jordan nods again, and earns himself a gentle kiss to his back as a reward.

“First, I’m going to fuck you with my tongue until you come,” Virgil says conversationally, like he’s simply telling Jordan what he’s going to make for dinner. The words are obscene anyway but his voice, deep and rough, makes them sound even more obscene, and Jordan feels his dick twitch where it’s hanging heavy between his legs. “Your thighs will be stinging, but I have a feeling you won’t complain about the beard after that. And then, when you’re still catching your breath, when you’re still shaking and coming down – I’m going to fuck you properly.” 

Jordan’s mouth drops open even though Virgil can’t see it, half in shock that he actually said those words. He’s not exactly a stranger to dirty talk but Jordan doesn’t think he’s ever heard him speak as openly as that, because Virgil knows it makes the tips of his ears burn. 

Not this time, though. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt quite like this before.

“Does that sound okay to you?” Virgil asks. He presses his smile into the meaty curve of Jordan’s arse so he definitely knows what he’s doing, but it’s worth it to play along. It’s more than worth it, really.

“Yes,” Jordan breathes, and Virgil hums once, and then presses his face back between Jordan’s cheeks. His tongue fucks into him with perfect strokes, firm enough that Jordan can feel every single flicker, and he’s so sensitive that it vibrates through his entire body. He wants to move, but he doesn’t know if he’s allowed, so he clenches his teeth, the material of Virgil’s pillowcase caught between them, and rides it out.

Virgil pulls away with a gasp, but only far enough that Jordan can understand him when he speaks. His lips still brush against Jordan’s skin, spit slicked and feeling incredibly swollen. “You can move,” he rasps out, voice so hoarse that he sounds deeper than Jordan has ever heard him. “I want you to move.” 

He presses back in, but as if to prove a point, he curls his fingers tighter around Jordan’s hips and pushes him away for a second. Then as fast as he pushed him away, he pulls him back in, harsh and uncompromising. Jordan thinks that it must be uncomfortable for him, but if it is, he doesn’t show it. He lets Jordan chase his pleasure and gives him exactly what he wants. 

He even seems grateful for it, groaning when Jordan pushes back even harder, and rubs an encouraging hand down the side of his thigh. He must be aching, desperate to touch himself and find that relief, but he carries on, working his tongue firmly until Jordan is a whimpering mess. He can’t even think straight, eyes squeezed shut, and he works a hand under his body to curl around his dick. That touch alone makes his entire body sag with relief. 

Virgil holds him up, one hand cupping the back of his thigh and pushing him forward while his free hand knocks Jordan’s away and tightens around his dick. Virgil’s touch feels even better, familiar callouses grazing almost painfully against his achingly hard cock, and he lets out a low groan that makes Virgil smirk against his skin.

He knows what he’s doing, does Virgil. The tightness of his grip and the speed of his strokes; he knows exactly how Jordan likes it. It doesn’t take long, really – twists his wrist and thumbs over the head, through the precome and then back down the thick vein on the underside, and Jordan is coming so hard it hurts. He cries out when the shockwaves travel through his entire body, turning his spine to liquid. He can barely hold himself up.

That doesn’t matter though. Not when he’s got Virgil, with his fingers tight on Jordan’s muscles, easing himself away from Jordan’s skin. He holds him up the whole time, until he’s managed to sit back on his heels, and then twists him until he’s laying on his back (away from the wet patch, thankfully). 

“Hi,” Virgil says. He’s smirking slightly, looking so proud of himself, and his eyes are half lidded. He looks gorgeous, and Jordan wants to kiss him, but he doesn’t move when the older man stretches his arms out towards him. “You okay?” 

“Been worse,” Jordan murmurs, hands falling against his thighs. Truth be told, his entire body is aching, but in the best way. His muscles are burning but it only reminds him of how Virgil’s mouth on him made him feel, and he can’t wipe the stupid smile off of his face. Virgil must see it too, but he doesn’t say anything about it. “Love you.” 

“I love you too,” Virgil whispers. Jordan takes a second to look at him – to really look at him, as Virgil slides his boxers down his thighs. He’s still hard, dick resting against his stomach and smearing wet through the dusky hairs there, and his skin is flushed from his cheeks right down to his nipples. He’s a work of art, and he’s all Jordan’s. “Gonna fuck you now. Is that okay?” 

Jordan’s chest is still heaving, gasping out harsh breaths from his orgasm, but he nods anyway. It might be greedy, but he can’t think of anything he wants more than this, and he bites his lip as he watches Virgil reach over to the bedside table to grab the lube. 

He slicks his fingers up quickly and presses both in with only a glance at Jordan’s face, but it’s okay. He’s still wet and loose from Virgil’s tongue, and he’s more than ready for this. It barely burns and Virgil stretches him quickly, leaning down to kiss him messily at the same time. The kiss is heated and deep, and a whine claws up Jordan’s throat at all the sensations. 

He curls his free hand around Jordan’s cheek and keeps him there while he pulls his fingers out, slicking his dick up just as quick before wiping his hand on the sheets.

(Jordan isn’t going to be the one doing the laundry this time). 

“You’ve been so good for me,” Virgil whispers, the head of his dick pressing against Jordan’s hole. He smiles when he pushes past the first ring of muscle and then there’s barely any resistance, sliding in tantalisingly slowly. Jordan isn’t even hard anymore, dick sitting soft against his thigh even though it’s making a valiant effort to chub up again, but he can still feel every single spark of pleasure that’s shooting through his body. “You’re always so good for me, aren’t you? Even if you are a mouthy little shit sometimes.” 

“You love that I’m a mouthy little shit,” Jordan gasps out, grinning when Virgil’s dick nudges against his prostate. His heart is pounding in his chest and he needs more, so he wraps his legs around Virgil’s waist and squeezes tightly. He’d forgotten about the beard burn on his inner thighs though, and it stings, even more painful where the sharp points of Virgil’s hip bones are digging into the soft flesh.

“I do,” Virgil murmurs, hand big and spread across Jordan’s thigh. He squeezes it in tight and the flash of pain is even more intense now, making Jordan press his head back against the pillow as he lets out a long, drawn out groan. It’s all mixing together, the pain and the pleasure, until he doesn’t know where one starts and the other ends. “I love _you_ , J.” 

And then he pulls back, far enough that only the head of his dick is still inside Jordan. It’s difficult considering how tightly Jordan’s legs are wrapped around his waist but he still manages it, and he grins down at the older man for a split second before he’s slamming back in so forcefully that Jordan’s entire body shifts up the bed.

Virgil’s still got a hand on Jordan’s face, the tips of his fingers brushing through his hair as he leans down to press a chaste kiss to his lips. He starts moving again but his thrusts are shallow this time, barely grinding his hips against Jordan’s. He’s not sure what’s more teasing; the pounding thrusts or the barely there movements. 

He sets up a proper rhythm, harsh and unforgiving with each movement of his hips, and the head of his dick nudges against Jordan’s prostate every single time. If that wasn’t enough to drive him insane, every time he moves, the sharp lines of his hips drag against the beard burn on Jordan’s thighs, making gasps claw out of his lungs. He doesn’t know whether he’s enjoying the sensation or not.

It doesn’t matter, though. Virgil always makes him feel good anyway, and this time is no exception. The younger man is staring down at him with half lidded eyes, mouth dropped open slightly, and the sight of it makes Jordan’s dick harden again – properly, this time, bobbing against his stomach. Virgil notices, too, because he trails the tips of his fingers up the length of it, feather light and teasing. 

Jordan tries to flinch away, sensitive to every touch, but Virgil just pulls him in tighter, not letting him go anywhere. The look in his eyes switches to considering for a second, and then he curves his fingers around the back of Jordan’s thigh and lifts his leg so that his calf is resting on his shoulder.

The angle is better now and Virgil slides impossibly deeper, shuddering out a sigh like he’s grateful his plan worked. It feels good for Jordan too, and he lifts his other leg until his knee is riding high against Virgil’s ribs. The next thrust feels incredible and he gasps out a moan, spine melting to liquid when Virgil’s dick brushes sparks against his prostate.

He changes the rhythm up and it’s more determined this time, short, sharp little thrusts that make Jordan’s fingernails scratch against Virgil’s back. He’s trying to find some purchase but he can’t get a grip. It’s okay though, because Virgil slides an arm under his shoulders and pulls him tight. He feels safe like this. He knows that he’s not going anywhere, and Virgil isn’t going anywhere either. 

“Fuck, fuck,” Jordan gasps out, head falling back against Virgil’s forearm. He feels the younger man’s mouth on his throat and groans at the sharp nipping sensations he feels from Virgil’s teeth, at the burning from the coarse bristles of his beards. “You’re gonna be the death of me.” 

“That’s the perfect way to go,” Virgil whispers, and then his tongue is sliding against the sweat that has pooled in the hollow of Jordan’s throat. He curls a hand around Jordan’s dick, wrist twisting deliciously, and he knows that it’s not going to be long now. He can’t take it anymore, can’t take the feel of Virgil’s skin and the sensations it causes. 

A few more pumps of his hand and Jordan can feel the familiar tightening in his stomach, heat coiling perfectly. Virgil is watching him like he knows, a slight smile on his face, and he runs the blunt edge of his thumbnail over the slit of Jordan’s dick. He knows that the flash of painpleasurepain is enough, and then Jordan is coming again, head pressed back into the bed as a low whine rips from his throat.

He comes in waves, shocking through his body, and Virgil just fucks him through it. He’s still got one hand on Jordan’s face, but then he moves it so both of them are tight on Jordan’s waist, holding him still while his thrusts turn frenzied, with no rhythm or pattern at all, and then suddenly his hips freeze and he tucks his face into the side of Jordan’s neck.

Jordan can feel it when he comes, can feel Virgil’s dick pulsing inside of him, and he squeezes tight just to listen to the guttural groan that tears out of Virgil’s throat. He sounds completely and utterly fucked and his hands are shaking where they’re resting on Jordan’s hips, and he finally comes to a still, all but collapsing on top of Jordan’s body. 

“You okay?” Jordan whispers, pulling the band out of Virgil’s hair and carding his fingers through the curls. He can’t see Virgil’s face but he can feel his eyelashes brushing against his neck, the smile pressed against his skin, and his chest feels tight with love. 

“I am perfect,” Virgil murmurs, finally pulling back. He presses a soft, short kiss against Jordan’s mouth, and then another, until he doesn’t even bother moving away and all the kisses just blend into one. “I love you so much, J.”

Virgil somehow manages to stagger to his feet – although Jordan knows that his knees aren’t quite as steady as he’s pretending they are – and he disappears into the bathroom, coming back with a damp washcloth in his hand. He gets back on the bed, settling on his knees between Jordan’s legs and cleans him up carefully.

“Shit,” Jordan hisses, flinching away when Virgil brushes the cloth over the beard burn he left. He pulls a face like he feels guilty about it, but Jordan thinks that if he was that sorry then he wouldn’t have done it in the first place. Still, he can’t help but smile when Virgil drops the wash cloth on the floor and presses gentle, soothing kisses over the red marks. He smiles, passing a hand through Virgil’s hair. “You’re such a dick.”

“I didn’t mean it,” Virgil murmurs, eventually laying down next to Jordan and stretching himself out. He brushes a kiss against the underside of Jordan’s jaw, tangling their fingers together and pulling the older man across his body until he’s got his head pillowed on Virgil’s chest and a hand resting on his stomach. “Alright, maybe I meant it a little bit.”

“You meant it a lot of a bit,” Jordan huffs, but it’s good natured. Still, he flicks Virgil’s nipple for good measure and takes in the wounded noise that he lets out. It’ll just about make up for the stinging between his thighs. “You’re definitely shaving tomorrow, Virgil. I don’t think I can walk around with stubble rash between my legs for the rest of my life.” 

“Could always just – not have sex,” Virgil suggests, staring down at Jordan with a shithousery smirk on his face.

“I think that would hurt you more than it would hurt me,” Jordan says, and laughs at the mock outrage Virgil gives him in return, fingers digging into his side as he tries to get him to admit otherwise.

Alright, so maybe the beard isn’t that bad. He’s not going to tell Virgil that, though.

His ego is big enough as it is.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @ [georginiwijnaldum](https://georginiwijnaldum.tumblr.com/) xo


End file.
